The press conference hall buzzed with anticipation as Colonel Rhodes stepped to the microphone, his military bearing at odds with the uncomfortable situation. "Mr. Stark has prepared a statement. He will not be taking questions. Thank you."
Tony emerged from backstage, moving to the podium with the casual confidence of someone who'd faced down rooms full of hostile shareholders and weapons buyers. The assembled reporters fell silent, cameras clicking, phones recording.
Backstage, Smith watched the proceedings on a monitor, a knowing smile playing at his lips. This was going to be entertaining.
Tony adjusted the microphone unnecessarily, buying time. "It's been a while since I did one of these public appearances. So I'll just..." He held up Coulson's script. "...read from the prepared statement."
He cleared his throat. "There's been speculation about my involvement in the events on the expressway and at the Stark Industries facility, "
"Mr. Stark!" A reporter in the front row interrupted, Christine Everhart, Smith recognized her from Tony's file. One of his former romantic interests, now a journalist with a grudge. "With all due respect, do you really expect us to believe the 'movie set' story? When the obvious truth, "
Tony's expression brightened, recognizing her. "Christine! I know exactly what you're going to say. And yes, there's absolutely nothing wrong with questioning official narratives."
He leaned into the microphone conspiratorially. "But you shouldn't make unfounded assumptions. Calling me a superhero, for instance, that's just irresponsible journalism."
Christine raised her hand defensively. "I didn't call you a superhero."
"Good. Because that would be ridiculous." Tony's smile was self-deprecating in a way that made it clear he was enjoying this. "Outrageous, even. I mean, look at me, I have character defects, I've made terrible choices, I'm definitely not anyone's role model. Superhero material? Hardly."
Rhodes leaned in, his voice a harsh whisper that the microphones picked up anyway. "Tony. The script. Just read the script."
Tony picked up Coulson's prepared statement, his eyes scanning the carefully constructed lies. For a moment, everyone thought he might actually follow through.
Then he set it down with deliberate finality.
"The truth is..." He paused, savoring the moment. "I am Iron Man."
The room erupted. Reporters surged to their feet, shouting questions over each other. Camera flashes created a strobe effect. Rhodes dropped his head into his hands. In a secure facility across town, Nick Fury undoubtedly began cursing.
"Mr. Stark, are you serious?"
"How did you build the suit?"
"What materials, "
"Is it military technology, "
Christine's voice cut through the chaos, amplified by her position near the front. "Mr. Stark! According to multiple eyewitness accounts, you weren't the one who defeated the larger armored unit. Correct?"
The room fell silent, all attention pivoting to her. She held up a photograph, grainy but clear enough to show a figure in dark clothing, arms extended, energy blazing from his palms.
"This man," Christine continued, "appears to have been responsible for destroying what you're calling 'Iron Monger.' Some people online are calling him 'America's Superman.' Can you comment?"
Backstage, Coulson pressed his palm against his forehead. "Damn it. Tony went completely off-script." He looked at Smith. "Please tell me you're going to stick to the story."
Smith's smile suggested otherwise. "Define 'story.'"
"And Christine Everhart," Coulson continued, pulling up information on his tablet. "We briefed every journalist in that room. How did she, " He stopped, reading. "She's not on the approved list. Who let her in?"
On stage, Tony had descended from the podium and taken the photograph from Christine, examining it with exaggerated interest. He returned to the microphone, the image still in hand.
"Well, yes, this is accurate," Tony said, as if discussing weather forecasts rather than superhuman abilities. "I'm Iron Man, a superhero, if we're using that terminology. Makes sense that I'd have allies. Powerful, like-minded friends who share similar values."
He gestured at the photograph. "I called in support for the Iron Monger situation. And my friend here helped me defeat the villain." He paused, clearly enjoying himself. "Using the DC Films template, I'm essentially an upgraded Bruce Wayne with actual powers, and my associate here is what you might call 'Superman.'"
Tony turned toward backstage. "Actually, why don't we just ask him directly? Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Smith Doyle."
Smith emerged to sustained applause and camera flashes, crossing the stage to embrace Tony in a brief, professional hug that played well for the cameras. Tony stepped aside, ceding the podium but remaining close enough to provide commentary.
Smith raised his hands in a calming gesture, waiting for the noise to subside. When he had relative quiet, he spoke with casual authority.
"I'm the other party involved in last night's events. My name is Smith Doyle." He smiled disarmingly. "And before anyone asks, no, I'm not Clark Kent. I'm definitely not Kryptonian."
The room rippled with laughter. Everyone knew Superman's origin story.
A reporter near the back raised her hand. "Mr. Doyle, are you from outer space?"
"Absolutely not," Smith said with mock indignation. "And I resent the implication. I don't have the ability to get stronger by sunbathing. My tan comes from actual UV exposure, like a normal human."
More laughter. Smith was controlling the room's energy, keeping things light while establishing himself as personable and relatable.
"Since many of you don't know me," Smith continued, "let me introduce myself properly. I'm the chairman of Universal Capsule Company, a technology firm dedicated to revolutionary innovation in how people live their daily lives."
He paused. "I'm also a recent and significant shareholder in Stark Industries. You can verify my stake through public filings with the stock exchange."
Tony jumped in, playing the supportive friend. "Which means Smith's definitely not some farm boy from Kansas. Soon he'll be joining the Stark Industries board of directors."
The reporters' expressions shifted, recalculating. Not just a superhuman, but a major capitalist player. Money and power combined with supernatural abilities, that was a story with legs.
"As for last night," Smith said, bringing attention back to the central narrative, "Tony's already confirmed his involvement. There's no point in me denying mine. Yes, we worked together to defeat Iron Monger."
Hands shot up across the room. "Mr. Doyle! So you're America's Superman?"
Smith shook his head firmly. "I'm not Superman. I'm not any comic book character. I'm just Smith Doyle, a person who happened to have the capability and responsibility to act when a dangerous situation emerged."
He leaned into the microphone, his tone shifting to something more serious. "Here's what I want the general public to understand: Justice requires action. It can't be delegated or outsourced. You can't wait for heroes to save you."
The room had gone quiet, sensing this was important.
"Even the Justice League from DC Comics can't be everywhere at once," Smith continued. "They can't prevent every disaster or stop every threat. Real security comes from communities, from institutions, from people taking responsibility for themselves and each other."
He softened slightly. "Of course, when actual superpowered threats emerge, call the proper authorities. FBI, SHIELD, whatever agencies exist to handle these situations. That's what taxes pay for."
Then his expression brightened. "On a completely different note, since I have this platform and Tony's already blown up the official narrative, let me take a moment to advertise. Universal Capsule Company will be launching our first product soon. Revolutionary technology developed by our chief scientist."
Tony couldn't resist adding: "I've met her. Bulma, brilliant researcher, incredibly creative, solid theoretical foundation. Honestly, she reminds me of myself at sixteen."
That got the reporters' attention. "Sixteen?" someone called out. "Your chief scientist is sixteen years old?"
"Sixteen and more accomplished than most PhD holders," Smith confirmed. "Wait until you see what she's developed. It's going to change everything."
The press conference dissolved into controlled chaos after that, reporters shouting questions, photographers jockeying for better angles, security trying to maintain some semblance of order. Tony and Smith fielded what they could, deflected what they couldn't, and generally ensured that by tomorrow morning, every news outlet in the world would be covering this story.
SHIELD's carefully constructed cover narrative had lasted approximately four minutes before Tony demolished it completely.
And Smith had just announced superhuman abilities, corporate power, and revolutionary technology to the entire world.
The age of heroes had officially begun.
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